


The Posh and the Puckish

by jeondoe, styzaintine (jeondoe)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Harry Styles, American Louis Tomlinson, American Niall Horan, Bottom Zayn Malik, But also, But also kinda dumb, CEO Zayn Malik, Confident Harry Styles, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Football Player Liam Payne, Harry Styles Cooks, Harry Styles is Not Heterosexual, Harry Styles is a Tease, Horny Harry Styles, Humor, Irish Niall Horan, M/M, Nanny Harry Styles, New York City, Niall Horan & Harry Styles Friendship, Oblivious Zayn Malik, Sexy Harry Styles, Smart Zayn Malik, Smut, Sort Of, Top Harry Styles, Twins, Whipped Harry Styles, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Zayn Malik is practically a baby pls protect him, actual football not the weird oblong thing americans do, fuck i miss that the most, i keep getting k-pop tags wtf, i miss one direction here we go, i miss zarry, idk why i wrote this to take place in america tbh, it's been 5 yrs why am i still not over these boys, narry is the true 1d bromance fite me, remember when one direction were friends and didn't bitch about each other yeah good times, they're kinda cute, vanilla smut really, wait that's a tag lol, we stan the gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeondoe/pseuds/jeondoe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeondoe/pseuds/styzaintine
Summary: It's just for a year, they thought.Nothing can happen in a year, they thought.Harry Styles, recently unemployed, uneducated and unenthusiastic, is in desperate need of a job. So when an opportunity presents itself almost literally to his hands, he doesn't think twice about accepting. Even if it means he'll be babysitting the teenage niece and nephew of the biggest asshole he's ever met.Zayn Malik, self-employed, self-made and self-centered, is in desperate need of a nanny. And albeit begrudgingly, he has to accept someone he'd never seen himself even giving a second glance towards.But sacrifices must be made, even if both of them prefer never seeing each other again.After all, they only have to put up with each other for a couple of months, and that will be the end of it... Right?
Relationships: Liam Payne/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Harry Styles, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Harry Styles
Comments: 30
Kudos: 194





	1. O N E

**Author's Note:**

> if you feel like you've read this before... you probably have
> 
> this is a majorly rewritten version of a fic I posted on my Wattpad account 3 yrs ago
> 
> inspired by the 2 episodes of Melissa & Joey I watched
> 
> I miss Zarry

Zayn Malik’s world flipped on its axis on a bright morning in the middle of August.

The day had started out like any other. He’d woken up at six AM sharp, rejoiced in the fact that it was a Monday- his favorite day of the week- and had enjoyed a lovely breakfast of pulp-free orange juice and toast.

He left the house at seven, wearing a charcoal-gray suit paired with his favorite tie. Boris was waiting for him in the driveway, today in Zayn’s favorite Rolls-Royce.

The drive to the office took a grand total of eleven minutes and fifty-nine seconds. Zayn waited for Boris to open the door. “Thank you, Boris. Be here by five-thirty.”

“Will do, sir.” The driver tipped his hat and drove off.

The morning sun glinted off the silver letters spelling out _SciCo_ at the very top of the building- fifteen hundred feet from the ground and not an inch less. Zayn cast a glance at the sign and stepped inside the cool, air-conditioned building.

Martha glanced up from her laptop when he entered. “Good morning, Mr. Malik.” Her lips curled up into a wrinkled smile.  
  
"Good morning, Martha." Zayn nodded at the receptionist and strode over to the sliding steel doors of the elevator. The muted sounds of Mozart’s _The Magic Flute_ played inside the cubicle; loud enough to hear, soft enough as not to interfere.

It took ten minutes to reach the topmost floor. At 7:22 AM, he was standing in front of the door to his office. The plaque on the door read,

_ZAYN MALIK_

_CHIEF EXCUTIVE OFFICER_

_SciCo_  
  


New York City was toy-like from Zayn’s point of view. He pressed a palm against the glass, his breath fogging up the window. From here, you couldn’t hear the noise of the metropolis. From here, you could feel like you owned the world.

And then his phone rang.

Zayn frowned. Very few people in his life had access to his private line. His parents lived half a world away and knew to call him only once every fortnight. The only supposed friend (for lack of a better word) he had was off in Hawaii, canoodling with his boyfriend. None of his employees or associates would call his mobile.

He sighed when he saw the name flashing across the lockscreen.

“Doniya,” he all but groaned into the receiver. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“To family, and the tight bond we share as siblings!” his sister all but hollered from the other side.

Zayn rubbed his forehead. He could already feel a migraine coming in. “What do you want?”

Doniya clicked her tongue. “Rude, but not untrue.” She paused. “I have something to ask of you.”

“I know.”

“ _Ruuude_.” How was Doniya the eldest Malik child? “So. The campus has organized a research trip to South America. Dr. Meyers asked me to join.” She paused. “And this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you feel me?”

Zayn did not like where this was going. Also, she was wasting precious time- time Zayn could’ve been using to _work_.

“I need someone to look after Aliya and Abdul.”

And there it was. “Absolutely not.”

Doniya whined. “ _Pleeeaaase_. You know I’d never ask you if I had another option; they’re already enrolled for school in Manhattan and I don’t want to uproot them just as they’re starting high school.”

“Doniya, I am a businessman.” Zayn sank down onto his seat. “I don’t have time to play house with children.”

“One year, that’s all I’m asking for.” Doniya’s voice shook over the receiver, and a stab of guilt went through Zayn’s heart. “Please, Zayn, I really want this.”

“I have _work_ , Doniya. I _can’t_ look after your children. Literally.”

“I’ve thought of hiring a nanny. I just don’t want to leave them 24/7 with a total stranger. I mean, if you can’t, though, I guess I have no other choice…”

Zayn sighed. “I really do hate you. Fine, I’ll do it.”

“I knew you’d come around! That’s a relief, since I put your address in the advertisements.”

“You _what_?”

He was met with a monotonous beep. Cursing out his sister but not really meaning it, he picked up his office phone and dialed the number of the reception.

“Cancel all my appointments today, Martha. I have to go find a nanny.”

. . .

Sometimes Harry Styles wished he’d paid more attention during middle school Geography periods.

At least then he’d know what the tallest cliff in the world was so he could fling his worthless body off of it.

The stack of unpaid bills in front of him grew to resemble the New York City skyline more and more with each passing day. How many of them were printed in red? He didn’t want to know.

The icing on the cake was getting fired from his job. Admittedly, it was a pretty crap job, but it had been all he had. Mixing drinks didn’t exactly require stellar SATs, and it helped pay at least a fraction of his bills.

And then his stupid dick had gone and gotten himself into trouble.

Well, technically speaking, it had gotten into his boss’s wife.

Needless to say, her husband hadn’t taken too kindly to it.

He’d been kicked out with not even the shirt on his back and not a cent of his last paycheck, so he took the responsible course of action and got white girl wasted with his best friend, because Harry Styles was nothing if not irresponsible.

(One of his tamer choices in life, really, considering he’d blown his college trust fund on a trip to South America and had barely enough money left with him to make it back to New York. He’d almost ended up a hooker.)

Said best friend suddenly let out a muffled groan from next to him. “What time is it?” Niall cracked one bright blue eye open halfway. “And why are you hitting your head on the wall?”

“I’m trying to give myself a concussion.”

Niall made a face. “Really, Haz? Do you need a hospital bill on top of everything else?”

Harry chanced a look at the teetering pile of bills. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“Always am, Hazkaban.” Niall yawned, scratching his balls. “Did we fuck last night?”

Harry took a moment to ponder this. “I doubt it.”

“Good, ’cause I’m saving my anal virginity for Kim Taehyung.” At Harry’s deadpan look, he raised his palms upward defensively. “Hey, a guy can dream, you know?”

“Maybe that’s what we should do, mate; start a boyband. Tour the world. Get so rich we won’t ever have to worry about bills for fuckin’-” Harry peered at the topmost bill, “- wait, when the fuck did I buy thirty-eight watermelons? _Why_ the fuck did I by thirty-eight watermelons, anyway?”

Niall flopped back down onto his belly. “Last week, we got high and you said you wanted to be like the guy in second grade Math questions.”

Harry stared at the bill in horror. “What did I do with them?”

“Hid them in under your bed.” Niall made inchworm movements to the edge of the bed to lift the coverlet. “Yup, there they are. You said you were gonna make sugar with them.” He peered up at Harry quizzically. “What the fuck is watermelon sugar?”

After ten minutes (okay, maybe, like, six, but let Harry be a drama queen), during which Harry huffed and puffed and Niall dispassionately stared at him from the bed, he managed to salvage thirty-seven watermelons (he’d drawn a dick on one- he did not want to know what he’d been planning to do with that poor fruit).

“I’m gonna take these back to the store and see if they’ll give me a refund,” Harry decided.

Niall looked up from assaulting a slice of the dick-melon. “And if they don’t?”

Harry beamed. “I will sit on the curb and cry about it.”

Carrying thirty-eight watermelons was easier said than done. Carla (the love of Harry’s life, his first lady, his hand-me-down Nissan Sentra that was pushing twenty years) cost him one when he went over a speed bump too fast, and Niall dropped another down a flight of stairs (they’d both watched in horror as it split open and red mush went everywhere).

A math question: Harry goes to the store and spends half of his savings on thirty-eight watermelons. He takes back thirty-five. How big of a dumbass is Harry?

The answer: colossal.

Needless to say, despite Harry’s wheedling and begging and finally sobbing, he did not get a refund. He dragged himself out of the store, back to Carla, where Niall had somehow managed to crack open another watermelon and was devouring it like a man starved.

“Not a dime?” he asked sympathetically.

“Not a single penny.” Harry flopped down into the driver’s seat. “Niall, do me a favor, would you, and murder me.”

Niall held out the other half of the fruit. “Watermelon?”

Harry screamed. “I AM GOING TO DIE A SAD AND LONELY DEATH SURROUNDED BY TOBACCO AND GIN AND OVERDUE BILLS.”   
  
Niall snorted. “Buddy, you don’t have the money for gin _or_ tobacco, much less both.”

“Thank you.”

“Truth hurts, man.”

Harry gnawed on his lower lip. “Maybe I should look for another bartending gig, man.”

“Shit, no. You were an awful bartender.” At Harry’s affronted look, he shrugged innocently. “I’m still waiting for my beer on the rocks from three months ago.” He turned around in his seat, angling his body so he was looking at Harry fully. “You could just move in with me, you know.”

“The only difference between having me and a dog is that I won’t poop everywhere and I’ll use up all the hot water.” Harry shook his head. “I appreciate it, man, but I can’t.”

Lying awake in bed that night, Harry thought about what a celestial fuck-up he was. And then that got too sad, so he pulled on his fuck-me jeans and set off to try his luck. If he didn’t find a sugar daddy by the end of the night, he might as well get his dick wet.

In the years to come, Harry would consider it destiny instead of what he thought it was at the time (a sudden craving for Haribo) that led him to the little 7/11 near his house.

“Hey, Martha!” The little old lady smiled brightly when she saw him. “How’s life?”

“Harry, dear.” She cooed and pinched his cheeks. “It’s as lovely as ever, dear. Better, now that I saw you.”

“Aw, shucks; you’re making me blush.” Harry gave her the cookies on the top shelf she was reaching for. “What brings you here, Martha? You’re rarely out this late.”

“I was busy all morning today.” Harry made a face, remembering the stories of her boss that she’d told him. She was fond of the man for some inexplicable reason, but Harry knew she was overworked. “I had to find a nanny for Mr. Malik.”

“That’s odd, I didn’t know Mr. Malik had kids.” From the little snippets he’d gathered about Martha’s boss, he was an incredibly intelligent yet utterly lonely man.

“Oh, not for _him_ ,” Martha laughed. “For his sister’s children. His niece and nephew will be staying with him for a while.”

“Did you find someone for the job?” Harry debated between chocolate chip cookies and Oreos, decided he couldn’t afford either and sullenly placed them back on the shelf.

Martha sighed. “I’m afraid not. Mr. Malik needs someone who’s helpful and trustworthy and good with kids.” She made a wry face. “Too bad you have a job, eh? You’d be a perfect fit.”

Harry stiffened. “Actually, Martha, now that you say it…”


	2. T W O

Martha’s boss lived in the Hamptons, because of course he did.

Carla came to a sad halt at the end of the driveway, right next to a sleek black Lexus. Harry pat Carla’s side, hoping she wouldn’t be too despondent at having the vehicular equivalent of Beyoncé by her side.

He rang the doorbell, and Martha’s beaming face met him a few seconds later. “Harry, dear!” She ushered him inside. “Mr. Malik will be here in a few; he had to go to the airport to pick up his family. Please, have a seat.”

Harry trailed after her into the kitchen. “How’s the family, Martha?” He accepted the glass of water she offered with a thanks, taking a small sip. Damn, even the water in this bastard’s house tasted like a million bucks.

“Oh, they’re doing grand, sweetheart; thank you for asking.”

Harry hummed, glancing around at the pristine countertops and painstakingly polished surfaces of the kitchen. He hadn’t seen a house so perfect except in catalogs. “Am I the only one who showed up for the job?”

He didn’t miss the way Martha’s smile faltered. “Several other applicants did show up…” She hesitated. “Unfortunately, they didn’t weren’t quite up to Mr. Malik’s standards.”

“And what standards would those be?” Dread coiled at the pit of Harry’s stomach.

Martha waved a hand breezily. “Don’t you worry about those, dear. I’ll vouch for you.”

Harry tried to muster a smile, but it quickly dropped at the distinct purr of a car pulling up. Martha’s eyes widened. “That must be Mr. Malik!” She darted off to open the door, leaving him hovering awkwardly alone, sipping at the proffered water.

You could tell a lot about a person by the way they walked. For example, Harry walked slowly; a parallel to the way his mind worked, on the rare occasions that it did. Niall clomped around like he had rocks in his shoes- which he probably did, and all the time.

Mr. Malik’s steps were sharp and brisk. Here was a man whose every step served a purpose; who had intent behind every stride.

Harry was already feeling unaccomplished.

The steps were getting closer. Harry straightened up, leaving his glass of water on the granite-topped kitchen island. He’d emptied over half of it, but his throat was feeling dry all of a sudden.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting Mr. Malik to look like, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of him. He looked barely older than Harry himself; a year at most, perhaps even less. Calculating golden eyes stared at him with no warmth from under thick raven lashes.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?” Ah, famous first words. They were already off to a great start. Harry could practically imagine them braiding each other’s hair and weaving daisy crowns together in a few days’ time. Not.

Before Harry could garble out some semblance of an answer, Martha piped up. “He’s the young man I told you about, sir; the nanny.”

Mr. Malik’s eyes raked down Harry’s body and stopped at his counterfeit Gucci sandals. Harry felt strangely naked. “Absolutely not.”

Wow, rude.

Martha’s smile wavered. “Perhaps if you could give him a chance-”

“Martha, I asked for a nanny, not a disgrace to humanity.”

Okay, ruder. Before Harry could stop himself, he spat, “Is that the way you usually talk? Or has the stick lodged up your ass gone into your throat?”

Both Mr. Malik and Martha gaped at him. Harry himself was too shocked at his own audacity to hear the other pairs of footsteps that walked into the house.

The woman that walked into the kitchen gave him a feline grin. “Anyone who can stand up to my ass of a brother like that is a gem in my book. You’re hired.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extremely short chapter, sorry!!! my laptop decided to flake out on me and I’m posting from my phone ;-; send help pls


	3. T H R E E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don’t kill me

If Zayn made a list of all the traits that made him dislike someone, tardiness, lack of hygiene and complete and total disregard for authority would be at the top. Harry Styles was all three.

Harry showed up twenty-six minutes and eighteen seconds later than he was supposed to, Febreze trying (and failing) to cover up the strong smell of Mexican food emanating from his clothes, and had the audacity to give Zayn a wide grin when he walked up to the doorstep. All on his first day of work.

“Howdy, boss.” He waved a ring-covered hand in front of Zayn’s face. It reeked of tacos.

Zayn narrowed his eyes, not moving from the doorway. “You’re late.”

“An astute observation.” Zayn’s nostrils flared, and Harry’s smile dropped. “Yeah, sorry, I slept through my alarm.” He shrugged, and gave Zayn’s shoulder a small pat.

Zayn shook his hand off. “Is that all you have to say for yourself, Mr. Styles?”

Harry blinked slowly. “Yes?”

“Yes, _sir_.”

“There’s no need to call me _sir_ , Mr. Malik.” Harry snickered. “Just ‘Harry’ is fine. ‘Daddy’, if you’re into that.”

Zayn was very, very close to busting an artery. “I’ll have you know that I do not tolerate lateness, Mr. Styles, and I most certainly do _not_ tolerate insubordination from my employees. Is that clear?”

“Ah, but there’s your catch-22.” Harry snapped his fingers and pointed them at Zayn. “I’m not _your_ employee, I’m your sister’s.”

The insolent smile had reappeared on Harry’s face. Zayn wanted nothing more than to wipe it off, but as much as he loathed to admit it, Harry was right. Doniya, despite Zayn’s numerous protests, had hired Harry after a grand total of one (01) conversation- a conversation which had consisted almost entirely of Harry saying something which required the brainpower of a cnidarian to come up with, Doniya giggling and blushing, and Zayn trying to interrupt and getting shot down.

“I can’t believe you’re trusting your children with someone you literally just met!” Zayn had whisper-yelled at his sister when Harry had left.

Doniya had given him a pitying look, which only served to anger Zayn further. _Her_ , pitying _him_? “Harry’s a good guy, Zayn. Martha knows him.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Martha had interjected. “Harry’s a wonderful young man. Very polite, very respectful- he’s very good with children, my grandchildren adore him.”

Zayn had yet to see any politeness or respectfulness from the man standing in front of him. Harry rose up on the balls of his feet, grinning from ear to ear. “So, can I come in?”

. . .

_Sheesh, someone was channeling the spirit of Emperor Kuzco._

Harry let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding once he was inside. Zayn had left without another word, in a shiny black Lexus that easily cost several months’ worth of rent for Harry’s apartment.

He glanced at the (brutally cracked) screen of his phone- it was just a little past seven. The twins’ school would be starting at nine. Harry had been charged with making sure they got to school on time and taking them home, then staying with them until Zayn got home at six. Easy work for a couple grand.

“Hello.”

“Son of a-” Harry whipped around to see the teenager standing at the bottom of the stairwell. “- Biscuit.”

Aliya Malik arched her eyebrows. “Sorry,” she said, sounding not one bit apologetic. She uncurled her fingers from the banister. “Did Uncle Zayn leave?”

“Uh, yeah.” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “D’you want breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry took several steps towards a doorway and peered inside. A bathroom that was easily the size of his entire apartment stared back at him. “This is not the kitchen.”

A corner of Aliya’s lips quirked up. “It is not,” she agreed.

 _Was every member of this damn family a smartass?_ “Mind telling me where it is?”

“Sure.”

Harry stared at her impassive face for several seconds. He let out a deep breath. “Kid, where is the kitchen?”

“I’m glad you asked,” she chirped. She pushed herself off the banister and led him to a surprisingly small area (compared to the other rooms in Zayn’s house; it could still fit three of the measly space Harry called a kitchen). “Ta-da!”

“Thank you,” Harry gritted. “What do you usually have for breakfast? Cereal? Bacon and eggs? Blini with caviar?”

Aliya hopped up onto a barstool near the kitchen island and folded her hands together. “Not bacon; we don’t eat pork.”

Harry slapped a hand to his forehead. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s cool. Waffles or pancakes, if you can.”

“Okie dokie.” Harry pulled open the refrigerator door and gasped. “Oh no.”

“What?”

Harry opened the door further and waved a hand in front of it. “Your uncle’s a health freak! And a _vegan_!”

The refrigerator was stocked- with vegetables. The only dairy product inside was half a pint of non-fat milk ( _non-fat!_ )- the rest was completely vegetables; kale and carrots and celery and asparagus and other unsavory items; not a single egg, even. The raised-on-a-junk-food-diet American in Harry was screaming in indignation.

Aliya wrinkled her nose. “Crap, I forgot.”

“Well, do you see anything you like-”

“No way in hell am I eating any of _that_.”

Harry shut the door with his foot. “Yeah, kid, I’m not gonna force you to. Tell you what- I’ll take you and your brother out to this Mexican place I know when he wakes up. Tacos sound good?”

Aliya nodded and held up a finger. Before Harry could ask, she hollered out at the top of her lungs, “AB- _DUL_! WAKE _UP_ , DINGUS!” She folded her hands again. “Give him ten minutes.”

Abdul stumbled downstairs precisely nine and a half minutes later. “Mornin’, Harry,” he yawned. To his sister, he said, “Hello to you too, Satan.”

“Harry’s taking us out,” Aliya declared.

Abdul blinked slowly. “With a gun, I hope.” Aliya threw him an unimpressed glare. “Great, I can’t wait!” he said with fake enthusiasm, swinging his arm.

Once outside, Harry jumped into Carla. The twins were staring the car wearily. “Hop on in; I promise it’s not an Autobot,” he said dryly.

Abdul pulled a face. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t look half as much hi-tech as that.”

Harry gasped. “Sh, don’t worry, baby; he didn’t mean that,” he said, stroking Carla’s dashboard.

“Um, yeah, I did.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Inside. Now.”

They piled into Carla. “Hey, Harry?” Aliya piped up. “Where are the seatbelts?”

Harry slammed the door shut. “You won’t need ’em.”

“I’m serious, Harry.”

“So am I.” Harry turned around in his seat. “Carla literally cannot go over forty miles an hour.”

Aliya still looked unsure, but Abdul only laughed and reclined in his seat. “Sweet. Wait, is that a thong?”

Harry glanced at the offending cheetah-print article of clothing hanging off the console. _Goddammit, Alicia_. He stuffed it into his jeans. “No.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a thong-”

“It’s not.” Harry turned back around in his seat and cleared his throat. “I’d say hold on tight, but.”

He turned the key in the ignition. Immediately, their ears were assaulted by Kellis blaring through the speakers.

“ _MY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD-_ ”

“Holy shi- shish-kebab!” Harry yelled over the loud music.

“ _\- AND THEY’RE LIKE, ‘IT’S BETTER THAN YOURS’-_ ”

Harry fumbled for the dial. “Fu- fudge, I’m sorry-”

“ _DAMN RIGHT, IT’S BETTER THAN YOURS-_ ”

He finally managed to turn it down. When he looked back at the twins, they were looking distinctly rattled. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

Abdul took a deep breath. “Well, at least we know the radio definitely works.”

Carmela’s Mexican Diner was a good distance from Zayn’s swanky neighborhood, and it took half of Harry’s _Songs 2 Suck Dick 2_ playlist to reach there. Harry pulled into a free space near the front and turned the ignition off.

“This will start again, won’t it?” Aliya asked, stepping outside.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, you brats.”

Carmela Fuentes was pushing eighty, yet her eyesight remained as good as ever. That, or she didn’t know any other curly-haired six-foot white boys. “Harry, _muchacho_ , is that you?” Her wrinkled face pulled into a smile. “Your fly’s down.”

Harry looked down and yelped. “Thanks.”

“ _Ay, de nada_. And who is this?” Her smile widened. The twins gulped in sync. “Ah, fresh meat! My favorite kind!”

Half an hour later, they stumbled out, bellies full and sufficiently traumatized by Carmela (“Ma’am, what meat is this?” “Our last chef’s, _muchacha_.”), they stumbled outside. It took several tries to get Carla started again (the twins gave Harry identical smug looks, which he stoutly ignored), and the last song on _Songs 2 Suck Dick 2_ ( _We Go_ by 3RACHA) was playing when Harry pulled up outside their school.

Aliya bounded out, shouting a hurried goodbye to Harry that was lost in the wind. She was enveloped by a gaggle of students immediately. All of them seemed to be talking at once, and Harry wondered how any of them got any message conveyed at all.

He turned around in his seat. Abdul was gazing outside, gnawing on his lower lip. “Kid?”

Abdul whipped around to face him, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, shoot, sorry- I’d better go-”

Harry frowned. “Hey, you okay? know I’m a couple years older than you-”

Abdul snorted. “An understatement.” But he was smiling.

“Hey, shut up, squirt.” Harry reached over and flicked Abdul’s forehead, who yelped in pain. “Look, I was saying that you can talk to me if something is bothering you.”

Abdul’s smile dropped. “Dude, that’s gay.”

He was out before Harry could say anything else, and Harry could only watch sadly as he walked into the school, his head bowed and back hunched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I’ll just change a little bit of this- polish the writing, maybe change the names if I’m feeling a bit sexy  
> also me: *rewrites the whole thing*

**Author's Note:**

> yeet


End file.
